re
was more chorus; and the curtain fell.

In the interval Vincy arrived. He and Bruce went into the little salon
behind the box. Lady Everard joined them there. Edith and Aylmer looked
round the house. The audience at the Society Theatre is a special one;
as at the plays in which the favourite actor-managers and _jeunes
premiers_ perform there are always far more women than men, at this
theatre there are always far more men than women.

The stage box opposite our friends was filled with a party of about ten
men.

'It looks like a jury,' said Edith. 'Perhaps it is.' 'Probably a board
of directors,' said Aylmer.

The first two rows of the stalls were principally occupied by
middle-aged and rather elderly gentlemen. Many had grey moustaches and
a military bearing. Others were inclined to be stout, with brilliant
exuberant manners and very dark hair that simply wouldn't lie flat.
There were a great many parties made up like those of our friends--of
somebody in love with somebody, surrounded by chaperons. These were the
social people, and also there were a certain number of young men with
pretty women who were too fashionably dressed, too much made up, and
who were looking forward too much to supper. These ladies seemed
inclined to crab the play, and to find unimportant little faults with
the unimportant actresses. There were many Americans--who took it
seriously; and altogether one could see it was an immense success; in
other words everyone had paid for their seats...

* * * * *

The play was over; Aylmer had not had a word with Edith. He was going
away the next day, and he asked them all to supper. Of course he drove
Edith, and Lady Everard took the other two in her motor....

'You're an angel if you've forgiven me,' he said, as they went out.

CHAPTER XIII

The Supper-party

'Have you forgiven me?' he asked anxiously, as soon as they were in the
dark shelter of the cab.

'Yes, oh yes. Please don't let's talk about it any more... What time do
you start tomorrow?'

'You think I ought to go then?'

'You say so.'

'But you'd rather I remained here; rather we should go on as we
are--wouldn't you?'

'Well, you know I should never have dreamt of suggesting you should go
away. I like you to be here.'

'At any cost to me? No, Edith; I can't stand it. And since I've told
you it's harder. Your knowing makes it harder.'

'I should have thought that if you liked anyone so _ve